The Beating Heart
by Mrs. R Sparrow
Summary: Elizabeth Swann is torn for several reasons. She has made a decision to do whatever she has to do to fix what needs mending, and to recover the feelings she has lost to numbness. A direct continuation of DMC, in my own version.
1. Isolated

The taste of settled rum, salt and the sea was still on her lips, and there was no way in the world to shut off her screaming mind. She didn't know what to do, or how to save herself, let alone the rest anyone else. She lay awake, exhausted underneath black shifting shadows, holding a small, cool object, tight-gripped in her right hand.

_Will knew_. He _must_ have known. The behaviour of Elizabeth's fiancé had been odd ever since the remaining crew had left the Pearl, and their friend behind with her. He had been looking her in the eye with a fierce and challenging gleam, his love subdued and ignored, or more likely denied or forgotten. There was a sharp pain in her chest for what she had done to both of them. She had wanted Will- she had _always _wanted Will and denied any change in that status. She _would_ marry him.

And yet Elizabeth felt a searing heat through her body, which made it literally difficult for her to breathe. She felt this agony for Captain Jack Sparrow. What _she had done_ to Captain Jack Sparrow. She did not know whether the Pirate was dead or alive. She did, though, assume the latter, quite bravely, because Captain Jack Sparrow never seemed to perish. She painfully reminded herself as well, that though skilled, and daring and able, the man was still a mortal.

Despite luck often being on his side.

She had lead him off the side of a sheer rock cliff, just walked him off the side and into jagged oblivion using the unfair charms that women are granted have in the most inappropriate of ways the wrong way. It was not fair, and she knew it then, but lacked the momentary integrity to care about the penalties of her actions. Why had she done what she did? Why did she attempt to seal a man's fate with a kiss?

To protect the rest, she hoped was the answer. To save the lives of those remaining, to stop this Hell before it unleashed anymore fire on those available to be signed away for death or an eternity's pained labour with monsters unseen by the majority of the disbelieving, unknown and unknowing world.

But was that _really_ the answer?

Elizabeth raised the object in her hand to her lightless eyes, and laid it on her chest. She turned her head slowly, lips pursed. She noticed Will on the other side of the room, a shadowed white form in his own hammock. He had barely spoken a word to her since they had left Jack behind. Of course, he didn't know why she had kissed Jack. But then, there was more reason to it than had firstly appeared to her.

Aside her in his hammock, lay Gibbs, snoring softly. She could see nothing inside of the room but the murky silhouettes of the crew and trinkets that hung about the ceiling. Barbossa slept upstairs, however he _still_ lived, a set of creaky spiral stairs between their haphazard grouping and his own odd unity with Monkey Jack, a dagger salvaged from the fights in Tortuga neatly tucked into Elizabeth's pocket.

There was one instance on this whole bloody trip where she had done the right thing, and that was save Norrington's life, even if at a cost to him. Not that it seemed worth much to him now. The man had fallen completely, able to go on without her, but not without his position, his power, the entirety of his being. Everything he had crumbled beneath him, Beckett having stolen power that did not belong to him.

The irony was lost to him.

Her father, Norrington, the upholding, kind uniforms of position in the Royal Navy had been betrayed. Not only betrayed, but betrayed by their own people, the Navy's choosing of whom to listen to, the citizens not knowing what was happening behind the cold, grey stone of the fort. _Anyone_, _everyone_ of position, low or high was either in the act of betraying or being betrayed.

How any of this had happened, Elizabeth didn't know. Her father needed everything to be fixed, resolved before it was destroyed. Beckett was trying to demolish his respect from every corner.

Jack, she knew, would have to take her help whether he was willing or not, because she _needed _to help him. She _needed _to _fix_ this. She needed her fiancé to be her husband and she needed all of this to disappear, become nothing but abysmal memories, and outlandish tales put to print by one who had never witnessed the events, thirty years later. Anything to force it away, for now at least.

She needed no one else to die.

With a broken glass tear in her eye, cutting and mangling her hurt, her suffering to torture, she roughly tore it away, and sat up in her hammock. With slow, shaking pale fingers, she managed to open the compass.

It's dial spun leisurely, obviously in no hurry to mend her. The small triangle revolved hopelessly in a circle, stopping twice at right and left to change direction. It never ceased movement.

Elizabeth, _Lizzy_, thought back to the previous times she had tried to use Jack's compass. It spun, shifted and ran in what she had thought was the wrong way. And then, it had shifted back to the Pirate.

She had thought it was broken, and now she wasn't sure.

Why choose the man- the _Pirate _that would never be able to love her- or if so, stay with her against temptation, grogged mock happiness? Why choose the man that most easily could be killed and gone on any day, when she could stay with the kind-hearted, reliable, beautiful blacksmith who risked his life to save hers, the man that she knew loved her for a fact? What of _that_ man?

Was she actually considering Captain Jack Sparrow as a _choice_? Against her loving Will?

She was.

But _why?!_

Perhaps simply because the Governor's daughter had the ability to bring out the goodness in the Pirate, and the Pirate had the ability to bring out the outlaw in the Governor's daughter.

No, it was more than that.

She knew as soon as light invaded the cold, black sky, she would talk to Tia Dalma, and she would find out where to go, what to do. And then she would be gone.

Elizabeth's chest ached and burned, her eyes were sore, and her back felt as if it was in shattered pieces. There would be little sleep to be had tonight.

Could she ever have the audacity and bare cruelty to break any or either heart?

That was the crushing moment in which Elizabeth realized that she had already broken both.

* * *


	2. Assimilated

solitairebbw218 - My very first review! I was so excited to get it! Thank you :D!

Stem The Beta - Thank you so much! Lol, this is probably going to sound odd, but I loved wording of your review! Going to check out your stories :) ...hehe, yes, their...exchange ;) Thank you for mentioning the emotions Elizabeth is dealing with because I didn't think that I had them written correctly, and the ending, I wasn't sure how that would go over, either.

tasteyourlove - Thanks so much. It is, isn't it? I feel terrible about it, because everyone has been hurt and it will likely get worse before it gets better.

jack's pirate lass - Thank you so much! I continually think that I suck at writing so I definately appreciate it. I never really learned properly, though...I hate school writing courses, so far.

Unikorn - Thank you! I'll try!

Cartoonatic - Thanks! I wasn't sure at first but these reviews made me want to turn it into a full fic rather than a oneshot :D.

Maia's Pen - Thank you so much! I hoped that line would turn out well.

Just To Be- Thank you :D

Dreaming One - Thank you, I hope this is another good fix :D! I am also obsessed :D! This is going to be a full fic I believe.

i.swear.to.drunk.im.not.god- Thank you! Capitals are exciting :D!

UsayImaDreamer - Thanks! I'll try to keep it enjoyable :D. Thank you, also for mentioning how you feel about Elizabeth's emotions, I wasn't sure and it is helping me out a lot.

Sarmoti - I felt the same way! I rushed straight to the fan fiction, I was so excited, haha. You're welcome for reminding you, lol, I loved those parts. Thank you!

dawn1- I agree! I am so excited! Thanks!

demonsfangs- I agree with you on that! POTC rules! Thank you!

* * *

"You should not go on your own, Elizabeth. I do not need to tell you it will be very dangerous."

_Lizzie_, as it were, did not wait for the light to come. She had lay awake on her own, clutching the indecisive compass and the experienced silver dagger. When she wasn't able to continue this any longer, she had strode silently about the hut, and had found Tia awake and waiting for her arrival.

She hadn't told Tia anything of her plans, only asked for Jack's bearings. The woman mysteriously knew all else without need for words.

"You don't, that is true. But I must go."

Tia eyed her now, painted skin about her usually knowing brown eyes crinkled as if she could not quite put her finger on something.

"There is only one way to find the Sparrow now. The Flying Dutchman won't be found unless it is either looking to be found, or looking for a person. Which it is doing neither of now."

Dalma turned inside of one of her many adjoining storage rooms, this one tiny and to the right of the hammock Elizabeth had been using. Tia searched the full shelves, covered with books, vials and jars containing any number of strange, dried, liquid and colourful items.

Tia revolved to face Elizabeth with a bundle of partially folded, aged parchment maps. She slowly unfurled the topmost one and turned her head to examine it. Africa painted neatly green and yellow. Asia red. Jamaica was orange.

"Assuming you believe much more freely in the supernatural, now, there are four things that you need."

Elizabeth nodded.

"Five medallions that you need. There is one from Vancouver Island in the New World, there is one from Easter Island, to the south, there is one from Heard Island, a mysterious place to the east, one from Hainan in the Old World." She explained.

"_medallions_?" Elizabeth inquired.

"And, the one from Bangui," Tia parted two books and reached between them, the black and gold book entitled "_Enchantment_" and another book, which said "_Preliminary Piracy_" in fancy golden letters on its spine.

She retrieved a hidden black pouch from the shelf and handed it to Elizabeth. Loosening the drawstring with her fingers, she gently opened the pouch and poured its contents into her hand. It was a shining silver angel, set on a square iron background, approximately an inch and a half wide, with intriquetly crafted feathered wings, and long hair that fell in waves about her shoulders. The medallion had something on its surface that she could not quite make out in the darkness.

"Each medallion has a symbol. Lightness to darkness (or good to evil), life to death, and magic. They are equally important. I have four for you. You will have to find the last, magic, yourself. It resides in Spanish Town, with a woman by the name of Aundrea,"

"How will they help Jack?" Elizabeth wondered aloud.

"The combining of each stone with the others enables the realm of the dead to be very close to that of the living. If one is not a person of proportionate balance of those five symbols, than without the aid of the medallions balancing that person's energy, they could never enter such a place without first succumbing to death after great sin."

Elizabeth absorbed this information. _More_ complications.

"What place?"

"Hell," Tia spoke as if the answer was blatantly obvious.

"..._Hell_...then...Jack commited great sin before..."

"Or he was..._is_...a person of proportionate balance," Tia countered. "You, however, Elizabeth commited a great sin. Now is not the time for death,"

For a moment, there was quiet, aside from the chirp of insects about in the swamp outside, the soft snoring of the crew.

"What if...what happens if he didn't...survive?"

"Then. Then, Jack is dead,"

There was a short-lived, but meaningful silence.

"The only way to bring Davy Jones to the surface is to taunt him with his own heart."

The two watched each other, one not knowing where to start, the other not knowing where to end.

"I must find this stone, steal the heart of Davy Jones before Cutler Beckett can use it to his own advantage, lure the Flying Dutchman to the surface with Davy Jones' beating heart, combine these medallions, find Jack, alive, and somehow escape with him, all the while keeping the heart away from everyone who wants it."

"Those are the main points, yes."

Tia gathered the maps and placed them in a cloth bag before handing it to Elizabeth.

"Other things you'll need are in here."

Elizabeth thanked her for all of her help, and the appreciation did not go unnoticed by Tia.

"You know they will go after you," She warned.

Elizabeth nodded, and drew her mop of sandy brunette hair together atop her head as she pulled her worn brown tricorner hat securely over it.

"Also, I will have to tell them the same information that I have told you."

Again, Elizabeth nodded in response.

"I know. Thank you for telling me beforehand."

"You're welcome," Tia replied, Elizabeth knowing she had meant all of her words.

With a small smile, Elizabeth gathered her things and stepped quietly towards the door.

"Swann,"

She turned back to see Tia watching her, hands clutched in front of her stomach.

"Be careful of that man, Elizabeth, he is not what he seems."

Elizabeth nodded appreciatively and slowly faced the door, remembering just in time to hold the bells atop it to prevent them from ringing as she opened it, not knowing exactly what Tia meant.

* * *


	3. Violated

I'm sorry for the extremely slow update, this was a very difficult chapter for me. It was easy enough to write, but it was very difficult to type and edit.

Omg! I get so excited when POTC commercials come on! I get all giggly and turn up the volume! Lol...I know, I know... :D

The review replies are in random order, I'm sorry if I missed anyone! Thank you so much, everybody!

**jack's pirate lass** -She might be ;). Thanks so much! ...and lol...its been awhile now..

**DomLetty4eva**- Thank you :D. Its going to be a J/E/W fic, we'll see how it turns out, and what comes into the mix ;)

**UsayImaDreamer**- Thank you so much :D! Goosebumps? I hope I can do that :D!

**Azurite**- Thank you very much for your review :), I hope I can create something different, and hopefully a little unusual. Actually, I was hoping that you wouldn't be annoyed with the indecision, because that is definitely going to be an continuing theme in this story. I hope you'll be happy with the results :)

**buffyandspike-4ever** - Thank you :)

anon - Thanks! I'll try, my chapters used to be (probably) too long...lol

**seesee** - Thanks :)

**solitairebbw218** - Really? Thank you :D!

**Perfect yet broken** - Thanks so much :D, I hope you continue to enjoy it!

Dolly - Thank you :D!

**Quirky Del**- Thank you for the reviews :D! I hoped the broken glass sentence wouldn't be too much, so I'm very happy that you liked and commented on it. Lol, yes I am questioning Elizabeth's 'dear' quality now as well, hahaha. Also, thank you for mentioning in your P.S that you liked the 'be careful...' line. I hoped that that would go over well :)

**isis black** - Thank you :D, cool pen name!

**pink-flame-kit**- Thank you :D... I know! Cliff hanger beyond what words can't express! I'm dying for the third, but also willing to be patient because I don't want to part with (huge freaking understatement) new POTC movies! I'm actually concerned with just how incredibly humungous that understatement is!

**Maia's Pen** - Lol, sorry! I didn't update fast this time. Thank you so much :D! I hoped the story wouldn't be way too much for everyone to take seriously (I'm sure I lost a lot of readers for chapter two) but we're past that chapter now and starting something completely different. You'll see :D. I'm also very interested to see what's going to happen in Pirates 3! In my story, there is definitely going to be a long and treacherous road ahead in your words, but we'll see what happens :D. Thanks for mentioning as well, Tia's last words to Elizabeth, I wasn't sure if they would be liked.

Jack is worth it, you're right! He's incredibly sexy and lovable beyond words:D!

I'm so happy that this story can be an escape from your horrible summer class, I'll do my best to update much sooner and keep that up for you :D

**Rinn Uchiha** - Thanks so much :D. I've just never been overly confident with my writing skills, even though I've always enjoyed writing, since I was really young. I'm glad you think I'm not a bad writer, though :D

**Just To Be** - She is! I agree, good luck :D! Yes, the rock things is very...odd... I'm glad you like the story, I hope I can keep it interesting! Thank you :D:D!

**Forever03** - Thank you :D!

**ReeseAnn** - Thanks :D! I'm sorry it wasn't a quick update, but I hope to fix that :)!

**i.swear.to.drunk.im.not.god** - I agree, capitals kick some ass! Lol. Thanks for the review :D! I know! I think Will seems ignored after that incident...Jack pilfers everything, he's very capricious.

do, do, do, **do**, do, do, **do**, do ,**do**,** do**, do do **do do** do do do do **do** do do **do **do do do **do **do do **do do! **(Don't you recognize it? It's Pirates music! Lol)

* * *

The swirling black-blue mist that floated eerily about the swamp clung wetly to her skin and clothes chilling her to the bone. It seemed unjust that the Caribbean could be so cold.

The murky bog was scarcely visible in the darkness, the candles light from the previous evening long extinguished. The atmosphere was black, darkened green and blue, the thick palm canopy above her shielding her sight from all but bits and pieces of the cobalt, silver star flecked sky.

Elizabeth's black, soft-soled boots padded over the loose, grassy mire bank, around a dense maze of towering, spiral trees, entwined leafy branches and dense, barbed shrubs, thorns digging past her skin, and into her flesh. She didn't stop. She stepped past an endless Jamaican mahogany and into a shallow sink hole that she hadn't seen, that contained mucky, half-liquid sludge coloured an unhealthy looking green.

She followed the channel without pausing until her dark leather boots hit sand. She stepped past the last olive shrub that obscured her view, leaving the smell of decaying water plants for that of salt and seawater.

The beach. Its daunting scene a never-ending, magnified sheet of what the palm canopy had allowed her to preview. An illimitable stretch of navy blue night sky speckled with innumerable tin stars, somewhere incomprehensibly far off in space.

Below it was a span of shiny, glass-surfaced black sea, the scene unbroken by land, the sea met by sky. Infinite.

The beach was white and took the sparkle of starlight, the diamond dust sand eventually running into rich, unaltered greenery.

Elizabeth Swann halted abruptly as soon as she caught sight of it, and stood, a quiet gasp nearly escaping her lips. She had never laid green eyes upon anything quite like this bejewelled landscape before.

After a startling moment had passed, she tried to shake herself from nature's bedazzling and beauteous hold by reminding herself that Captain Jack Sparrow was in a little more than trouble this time.

She cut to the chase and searched the tree line for the rowboat Tia had said would be there. Two minutes later, under a short coconut palm, Elizabeth found it was precisely where Dalma had described.

She turned the small wooden boat over and placed the paddles inside, along with the linen bag Tia had given her. Elizabeth dragged in across the sand and into the water. When the boat was almost entirely in the water, she stepped inside and pushed off the shoreline with one of the oars. With the soft splash of water, the small vessel etched a rippling line in the sea.

xXx

In two hours, with aching shoulders, Elizabeth rowed into Black River port in the dim, early morning light. She stepped out of the boat and into the shallows without bothering to hit beach first and keep her boots dry. She dragged the tiny boat up on shore and skewed plants about it in the trees, for some reason hiding the craft, even while knowing that she wouldn't be back for it.

She had landed on the beach to the right of the harbour, and stepped across the sand towards the town, legs stiff and arms too sore to even swing absentmindedly at her sides.

She was thankful that she wasn't wearing a dress as she stepped past the harbour. She didn't have the energy to waste being witty (or physically violent) in reply against any seaman's usual overly-suggestive comments that befell any woman who stepped foot near any marina Elizabeth had ever been to.

She made a quick change in plans as she swivelled to face the bobbing ships tied up at the docks. There were a many merchant sailor passing crates of cargo to one another onto a two-mast sloop that read "_Atlas_" across its side in carved, black painted letters.

To the right, there was a square-rigged Brigantine, unmanned, by the looks of it. Behind it was another, smaller sloop, occupied by white-dressed men, apparently not from anywhere on this side of the sea. To the far right, was an abundance of small catboats and fishing vessels, some occupied by men transporting their early catches, and others just preparing to go and seize their own.

Elizabeth approached the man whom appeared captain of the merchant ship. He was a bald man of perhaps forty years with light blue eyes, (carefully overseeing the transport of the cargo) and a round face slick with sweat. He wore a new white tunic over his tank chest and worn, brown breeches.

"Captain, is it?" She asked as she approached.

"Yes, sir. Captain Jim Roberts." He extended a large hand. She shook it briefly.

"Michael Day," She introduced herself without any hesitation. "Are you stopping in Port Royal, by chance?"

"We are passing by," He offered.

"Could you use another? I have a life's sailing experience and I need to reach Port Royal as soon as possible."

Roberts stood and studied her for a moment, thinking.

"Yes, we could use anoth'r hand, I think. I suppose we coul' stop." He replied.

"Thank you, Captain."

"You'll be in Port in two days, Mr. Day."

Michael Day picked up a hefty crate with a smile, ignoring the shooting pain from her shoulders through her arms, and passed it to a burly man over the gang plank.

xXx

Elizabeth yanked down the woven line, hoisting the crisp white sail before the wind. She hurriedly tied a figure of eight knot to finish, though as her fingers finished intertwining the rope, she changed her mind in case it wasn't sufficient.

Skilled fingers ripped open the knot and changed it for a woven bowline around the cleat. Elizabeth examined the rigging about the sail, shielding her eyes against the sun as she looked up to the mainmast.

She pulled the lines tight and examined the knots, retying those that had loosened. She repeated the duty for the foremast, except raising the sails, as that had already been done by the aging, white and black-dressed, unshaven sailor named Mack. Apparently, according to Roberts, that stood for Mc Nabb.

She had met most of the crew, now, most memorably, the quiet, young French man named Andrés, the experienced, seaward first mate, Mack, and unfastidious crewman Peter Heisman.

Told to play Lookout for the day as Stevens took a well-deserved rest from the duty, Elizabeth left the crew on deck and below, grabbed a line and hoisted herself onto the rail and proceeded to climb up the crisscross footropes with the skill of a Capuchin monkey.

Easily, her boots landed in the twenty-foot high, partially enclosed basket that was the crow's nest.

Four minutes of surveying the horizon for ships and sails produced nothing but open cerulean sea and a quick tapping noise behind her. Elizabeth spun to meet her disturbance. Peter stood holding a sail line, leaning leisurely against the mast. He had cocky footing and a smug grin through his dark stubble.

His short-sleeved tunic was dirty and sweat-soaked, billowing in the same fast wind as the sails. An angry red sunburn peered out from it, ragged white skin peeling from his chest. He wore simple black trousers and a belt scabbard, empty. All the better.

"Can I assist you in some way?" Elizabeth asked lowly.

He squinted against the high noon sun, his face familiar in that of the expression on it. The expression of a Pirate who thought he knew everything that there was to know. The collective look of those that were always rivalling and never to be trusted.

His black eyes had no sheen in the light, and his short, dark brown hair was mussed and dirty.

"There may not be." He replied simply.

Elizabeth kept one eye on the horizon and one eye on him.

There was a brief silence that contained only the crewman and the mendacious Day watching each other in a way that feigned inconspicuousness, even while each could plainly tell.

Elizabeth was not feeling tensed, if that was the angle that Heisman was going for.

"_Well_, act'ally, there _is_ something," He said, noting her disinterest.

He stepped closer, eyes on her and not what he was doing. He jumped into the crow's nest, beside her, sticking his colossal nose in her face as if he was the alpha male and she was his doting, useless whelp.

"I always take the new man's hat," He sneered and snatched Elizabeth's worn tri-corn from her head before she was able to react and stop him.

Her hair came tumbling out from underneath it, in all its russet glory.

Heisman turned and leapt from the crow's nest to make his escape. He ran, then quickly doubled back, turning to look at her. She considered going after him, but immediately thought the better of it, not prepared to risk her own skin on the narrow yard arm with a seedy bilge rat.

It was then he realized that she was a woman, not having enough time to notice before then. He strode back towards her across the yardarm, too quickly. Elizabeth wasn't sure what to do next regarding her exposed gender. But, like Jack, she would improvise, not negotiate.

She would be on the ship for the rest of the day, the night, and for part of the next day. She watched Heisman, one foot incautiously in front of the other, he was lucky he hadn't fallen, she noted.

"You-" He started. As _luck _would have it, it was then he lost his footing, his forward boot landing on nothing but air. Gravity propelled him to fall fast to the left. Elizabeth lunged forward from the crow's nest, refusing to stand there and accept that she couldn't reach him. In that moment, she shot farther towards Heisman, but there was nothing she could do to effect whatever his fate might have been.

She couldn't reach him, he was two and a half feet away.

His mouth opened in shock, his eyebrows lifted. The man looked only vulnerable as he fell, fists clutched, legs kicking, trying to grasp rigging he couldn't reach. And Elizabeth could do nothing but apply incessant pressure on her mind, in an attempt to compel him to stop before he hit the deck.

Heisman appeared not the glaring, harsh man that he had been portraying earlier. It seemed also, that he had forgotten that he still clutched the rope in his left fist. Elizabeth had forgotten as well.

He must have acquired a terrible rope burn when the line strung upwards with his weight, then fell back in a downward direction as he swung from the last third of it, his face etched with the primal human expression that was purely absolute desperation to live.

When Elizabeth eased her way out onto the yardarm, the harshening wind whipped her exposed hair about her face, taunting her as it threatened to push her off the slender wooden post and onto the plank deck so many feet below her own.

She wasn't holding a line.

Elizabeth braced herself against the weathers icy grips and edged her way towards Heisman with a great deal more caution than he had practiced.

She could either call for help and have the crew come and assist her, as well as discover her true identity, or she could attempt, selfishly, in her opinion, to pull a 150 pound man from thin air on a single rope, herself.

It seemed her instincts had already made that decision for her. She latched onto a line, tripled it around the mast and secured it with the fastest knot she had ever tied, a clove hitch, followed by a half-hitch to reinforce it. She buried her left fingers in between the mast and separate ropes for added grip.

Hurriedly, she untied two knots, releasing a sail line, and pulled it from its grommets, leaving the bottom of the sail to billow free.

Heisman groaned and gritted his teeth. She understood.

Elizabeth looped the rope over itself, and knotted it twice, creating a partial slipknot. She doubled the line around the mast and yanked the ends into a knot, tossing the loop down to Heisman, who was dangling on the end of a rope like a worm on a hook, swaying in the numbing wind.

"Try to pull yourself up." She called against the developing weather, the smell of salt overpowering her and suddenly stinging her nostrils.

She shouldn't hear anything but the echo of sharp wind against her eardrums as she wound the end of the rope she had thrown to Heisman around her left hand.

He managed to toss the rope over his head and got it to rest under his left arm. Heisman used both hands to pull himself up, his face red from exertion.

Elizabeth, with the same still-sore arms that had rowed the boat for two hours before reaching port, held herself to the mast and helped pull Heisman back to the yardarm.

She clenched her teeth and yanked as hard as she could on the tense rope as he climbed.

In excruciating minutes that seemed to last much longer than they were normally supposed to, Heisman was close enough to the beam for him to wrap his arm around it, and for Elizabeth to give him the final, necessary heave that finally allowed him to rest his weight on something solid.

Both lay clinging to the yardarm, ropes tangled about them, overheated lungs wheezing with exhaustion.

xXx

Elizabeth had lost track of her hat when Heisman had fallen, though she'd had the fortune of finding it on the deck below when she had been horizontally clinging to the mainmast yardarm.

Without a word, separately, they had climbed down, Elizabeth first. She didn't stay to see when it was that he descended the mast.

She found her hat on the starboard side, and without Mack or Roberts, the only two visible on deck, seeming to notice, she pulled her hair back up and replaced her tri-corn.

Her body was screeching in angry, scorching agony that consumed her mentality, specifically stretching from one set of fingertips to the other, all through her arms, shoulders, chest, collar and core. She couldn't do much else aside from stumble around in excruciating, teeth-gritting fatigue. It was a cycle, the pain making her tired, her weariness allowing her pain to run unabridged throughout her body. She'd little strength to fight it.

She wanted nothing more than a drink, one sip of rum, even, would be appreciated. But she didn't risk it. Especially not when Heisman knew.

She made it below deck, stumbling loose-legged on the stairs. There were a few people about, Starling, Lee and Brediér were grouped to the left, sitting in white-sheet hammocks, resting and laughing over shared stories she didn't catch more than insignificant fragments of. Elizabeth didn't know where anyone else was.

It was a dank room, cold and very minimally lit, two lanterns on the far side of the room providing the only light. The air was heavy holding the odours of unknown things that no one should have to smell.

She leaned against the wall for a moment, telling herself that she would seek out an empty hammock after a brief rest.

No such luck as she head the telltale creak of stairs and looked up to see Heisman making his way below, unnoticed by the other three of the merchant crew in the corner over their booming laughter.

He sauntered over to her with ease, thinking he ran the show. He walked as she had noticed earlier, like he thought everyone should take orders from him.

Her hands rested at her sides, her neck against the cool wood planks on the wall, and she made no attempt to move.

"I'm not going to keep this t' myself, y'know." He announced, a little too loudly, one foot away from her.

Elizabeth glared straight back at him, his dark, barren eyes and arrogant smirk. His shirt was in worse condition than it had been before, ripped through on the left side and torn at the seams through his right armpit. It was also considerably more damp with sweat, and especially worse was the agonizing, stomach-turning aroma that emanated from it, mixing with the smell of singed skin, burning the noses of all in a twenty-five foot radius. Elizabeth was no longer entirely sure that the skin that peeled from Heisman's chest was caused by a sunburn.

"I helped pull you out of a potentially fatal situation. Just because you decided to saunter up carelessly and take my hat."

"That doesn' make me owe ye nothin'. You could 'ave left me there."

"Despite the fact that I didn't. Most pigs are deserving of their lives,"

"That so?" He grinned, yellow teeth flashing.

She stepped forward, causing him to automatically step back. It was her turn to grin, she knew, but her face remained serious.

"I'm rethinking that now."

"If you don't wan' me to mention that lil' tidbit 'bout you bein' _female_, _Mr. Day,_" He said, again with excessive volume, looking over his shoulder with a smirk at Lee, Brediér and Starling.

Heisman was interrupted by a bellowing call of the captain.

"All hands on deck!"

Elizabeth had heard those words too many times to count. She and Heisman watched the three crewmen, still echoing deep laughter, one nearly skeletal, and the other bigger than the both of them. Heisman turned back to 'Michael' grinning as if in victory.

The thump of Mack running down the same stairs was heard as he busied himself with something neither was paying enough attention to see.

Suddenly, Heisman yanked her sore arm, and she was pressed up against the wall around the corner. Her straight stare, shocking and green, immediately fell upon two wooden doors, the left one hairline cracked in the corner, twisting up to meet nothingness like entangled spider legs.

He forced his weight against her, his thick waist held forcefully against hers.

Unscrupulous hands filthily ran across pale skin, stroking harshly places they had no business anywhere near, his thigh, his pelvis against hers.

Hollowly, her eyes stared through his.


	4. Annihilated

_"And it's like...everytime I turn around I fall in love and find my heart face down and where it lands is when it should...this time it's like...the two of us should probably start to fight..."_

Hello everyone! Thank you so much to all readers, and reviewers!

I'm going camping Friday to Monday afternoon and hope to update soon after :D!

**Perfect yet broken** - Haha! Really? I'm glad you recognised it! Lol! I get the straight-jacket looks all the time too... but not always just about Pirates... :D. I'm so excited for number three! Thanks for the kudos, and the love! Rum and hugs:D:D

**Just To Be** - Thank you! So, you think he's a jerk, eh? I would love to give him an uppercut myself, oddly enough, lol. Very cool review :D:D:D!

**buffyandspike-4ever**- Heh heh, and here it is! Thank you :D!

**i.swear.to.drunk.im.not.god**- :D! Kick-ass review! Thank you! Ha-ha! Sorry about the cliffie ;) Answers lie at the bottom of my review replies... :D

**Libby24**- WOW! Incredible review. I can't believe it! Thank you so much :D! I hope I can continue to produce the writing that you enjoy :D! I'll do my best to live up to this amazing review :D!

Malsie - Here it is :D. Thank you so much :D:D! Thanks a ton for mentioning the knots, too, I didn't know if anyone would care about that or not :D.

**jack's pirate lass** - Thank you much :D:D! I hate it when they delete reviews! Ahh! But I don't mind when they are for me because I appreciate it so much and you re-wrote a beautiful review anyway! Sorry about the cliffhanger, like you said, especially after Pirates 2, but we both know that it would be no fun without them ;) :D! If you really want to know how I learned to write... I started scribbling stuff down since I learned to use a pen, and continue this nearly illegible, primitive scribbling to this day. And I've defied pretty much every order, suggestion or piece of advice any of my English teacher's ever gave me, until this year. I guess I wouldn't openly recommend that... but I'm a weird kid :D. You rock:D:D!

**thehockeymarine** - Thank you very much :D! I hope to keep this story going, and eventful!

**kitkatk8**- Thank you:D! It could be awhile before she rescues Jack, but I hope to keep everyone entertained on the journey towards his rescue. Well, I'm not going to say who Elizabeth ends up with..you never know, after all... love, lust and want work in mysterious ways ;)

**ReeseAnn**- Thank you :D! I hope to keep it that way :P

* * *

Ignoring the shriek of pain that motion brought, Elizabeth pushed Heisman back with one hand. Immediately, he stepped forward, unbothered, close to her, one hand on his brushed metal belt buckle.

"Like I was saying, you're go'n t' have t' do somethin' for me if you want t' keep secrets on this ship,"

Both bursting with invigorating adrenaline and suppressed, apprehensive dread, she kept her eyes level with his.

"If you make yourself any closer," Elizabeth warned between clenched teeth, "I will have to kill you. That is your only warning."

He laughed, scalded chest quaking, gut heaving along with it. That awful, invading smell in her nostrils.

He placed his other outsized, stubby-fingered hand slow to his sword, the scabbard now occupied. Elizabeth hadn't noticed that tiny, _insubstantial_ detail earlier. He curled a few hirsute fingers loosely around the forged brass handle.

She heard only the jagged sound of the rasped breath escaping his lungs, and again entering them. The sound of rats scurrying softly not far off, Roberts' voice shouting orders, drowned down to a quiet roar, scarcely heard at all through the decking. The ocean familiarly slapping at the Atlas' sides, keeping her afloat. The dizzying creak of boards, walls and rigging.

Heisman looked her in the eye, attempting intimidation. He was approximately 5'11" to her 5'9", and weighed little more. Maybe forty pounds. Nothing. But his skill intimidated her even less than his attributes.

"How are you gonna hurt me, Missy?" He asked, his mouth now only inches from her ear.

Elizabeth's right hand snaked slowly into her pocket. Elizabeth swearing he had more than two hands, he advanced when she had thought there was not another inch left to do so. Calloused fingers, the nauseating stench that caused acid to pool in the pit of her stomach, creaking decks and the patter of booted feet running above her head. His knee pinned her against the wall, sharply pressed into her stomach, while one hand was wrapped around her upper arm, holding her with excessive strength. With heed, she drew her aged dagger and flipped it into a horizontal position, gripping tightly its inky black handle. With speed, she drove it forward, directly into Heisman's midsection.

With the same rapidity, she withdrew it.

He staggered back from her, hands finding his wound. He lifted one hand to his view to find it crimson painted, bleeding from its canvas, drops tracing a steady stream down his wrist and forearm, then dripping with an insignificant splash.

He looked up at Elizabeth, his black eyes holding an gleam. Their darkness included a fleeting light, and locked with Elizabeth's dark green irises, inky pupils. There was now no trace of brass, or gold, only bitter, unfeeling green. Not sorry, not regretful.

His expression said everything that hadn't escaped his lips, a mildly angry, though more acrid, grinning touché.

"You think one wound is goin' t' kill me?" He inquired, as if she had done something ridiculous.

"I don't _know_. It's pretty _deep_." She responded coldly. Elizabeth still held out the pointed six-inch dagger, coated to the worn, decorative handle in blood. Dripping to the floorboards, her shoes.

Heisman chuckled oddly, and fumbled with bloody fingers. At his shirt, he tore the blood-soaked material at either side of the hole the knife had made.

Neither made any move.

The wound was spilling blood, sputtering it faster from him when he laughed. He dipped his hand inside, trying to gage the depth, but removed his fingers quickly, expression blank. Then he let out a short, amused laugh.

Heisman sprang forward with the speed he could muster, his right hand finding her neck. He pushed her up by the chin with the space between his thumb and index finger, lifting her inches off the ground.

Swiping for his arm in the air, off target, she tried to grab his wrist. The only sounds she could hear were her hollow, throaty gasps for oxygen. With desperation she couldn't comprehend, she kicked out from the wall at his body, and tried to reach him with the scarlet blade. She choked and gasped, sputtering within herself, feeling overheated, detached. He still grinned.

With those damnable stubby fingers, he plucked the blade from her hand with great delight and slashed it diagonally against her exposed upper chest. Without leaving the knife to linger, he threw it behind him without looking back.

She gasped and clawed and sputtered screams that wouldn't escape. The creaking deck was drowned out, Heisman's blurry image fading slowly in and out. There was nothing quite as desperate and vulnerable as asphyxiation. Man or woman, completely at someone else's whim. It wasn't a matter of choice, or toughness, it was a matter of helplessness, throat exposed on that sickening literal level. The only word to describe it was completely on-centre. _Choking_.

He smiled malevolently as he gripped the neck of her sweat and blood stained shirt, and tore it down the side with his bare hand, nearly from top to bottom.

Suddenly, he shifted back, and Elizabeth dropped to the floor, knees bent, bracing herself against the wall, breathless, wheezing, and still choking for sweet, under appreciated air for which she was in dire need. She felt as though she might throw up, mouth full of upchucked stomach acid, but before she had the chance to be sick, she was distracted by a shaking Heisman. He slipped back, his smirk gone, and clutched the material of his shirt affront the new, six-inch hole in his stomach.

Heisman laughed again, this time incoherently. His legs swayed to the right and he fell in a heap on the cold, grimy floor.

Elizabeth watched blankly, still gasping for breath as he twitched weakly, his arm overturning and his booted feet convulsing. His black eyes never closed.

Not daring to waste the time she needed between now and the moment someone would come below deck and catch her covered in blood with a dead man at her feet, despite her turning, pounding stomach, heart and lungs, she straightened as best she could and stepped towards him. Finally, it was over.

As she bent to grab his wrist, her feet were pulled from under her and she fell sharply to the floor, back landing hard on the wooden planks. She snapped her head around to see Heisman had grabbed her ankle. Still shaking, he lifted himself onto one knee and loomed over her.

She instantly scrambled back, her hands and wrists propelling her backwards too slowly. He pounced, landing heavily on top of her, further pressuring her lungs. She bucked underneath Heisman, trying her best to throw him, at least to the side, so she could get away. He tried to pin her, one hand flat, pressed against the floorboards at the left side of her head, the other moving to secure her kicking legs. Seeing a chance, she flipped as hard as she could to the left and fumbled forward for the knife.

Managing to get it into her grip, though at an odd angle, she turned as he neared her on his knees, hands out to grab her.

Two downward strokes with the stained blade was enough to put him on his back, blood flying as she withdrew the knife each time. She clambered up, clawing at the wall for support. His eyes still didn't close.

A few minutes later, when she had caught her breath as well as she figured she could, and Heisman still didn't move, had spilled all of the blood she thought he could afford to lose, and was sure as she could be about his status, she bent and grasped his ankles. With one hand, she turned the knob of the spider leg-cracked door, which thankfully lead to the poopdeck she found unmanned, and dragged his body through it, leaving a smeared scarlet trail.

With a heave, she lifted his corpse, and rolled it over the railing. A hollow splash followed.

For a short moment, Elizabeth watched the green-grey sea. Looking off in the distance, she found an unending stretch of waking ocean, empty. The sky was an angry grey, low and consuming.

She knew, for the second night, there would be no sleep.


	5. Arbitrated

_Happy New Year!!!!!! Hic !_

_I'm so sorry about the ahem ... massively delayed update. Thank you so much, reviewers, and readers, too, however it would be amazing if you would put in a word (anything-doesn't have to be a review if you don't want to) so I know that you're listening. _

_I'm sorry that I can't do this individually right now, but thank you so much to all of you! I do plan to continue this fic with regularity. To Unikorn, there will be humour in the story, yes, though there will be a period of seriousness that will continue for awhile before the story changes direction._

* * *

_It doesn't prove anything._

She snuck through the gardens unnoticed, the unrealistic, vibrant purple blooms calling her home, towards the familiar. Away from the smell of the sea she had become so accustomed to. She didn't want to leave. Not any longer.

Black boots padded past the bougainvillea bushes, and jasmine beds, behind the twisting mahogany, and latched onto the white lattice at the side of the building, below her bedroom window.

She scaled it with time-acquired skill and checked the window, wet with condensation. Unlocked, just as she'd left it.

The Pirate pushed the frame up from the bottom and ducked inside, heading straight for her dresser. She tossed stolen breeches and purchased tunics, a beige dress of her own into a canvas bag taken from her left bedpost, just in case.

Elizabeth placed the smaller cloth bag that Tia had given her inside of it, and left them close to the window on the hardwood floor.

She fiddled with the lock on her bedside table, having no problem in setting open the pin with one of her hair clasps. She'd no time for the key and lock concept, haven given it too much of her effort previously.

Besides, the key was hidden away from the world as it had always been. The round, blackened silver piece of iron held a significance that no other person, anywhere, knew of.

She collected the pistol from where it lay atop her crumpled, re-read letters (many of which were from William) and small stacks of documents and stored it in her pants pocket.

She hurried to her desk, snatching up her papers , retrieving an ink bottle and quill, all things that she would need.

With toughened elegance, she swung around, in the process knocking her porcelain figure of an emotionally crafted, esteemed English lady with her wrist.

Elizabeth tried to grasp it from the air, but had no success before it hit the floor with a resounding crash, shattering the tense silence trapped tightly in the room.

Picking up on the fast reaction further down the hall, Elizabeth, in attempt to dodge the intruders, swung out the window, fingers scraping the splintering window frame.

She groped for footholds, finally finding one for her right boot.

Some documents she hadn't the chance to set in the bag remained under her left arm, while the carryall hung over her strained right shoulder.

Clinging to the sill with her right hand, she quickly closed the window behind her.

Elizabeth re-adjusted her hands from the windowsill to the white lattice below. A small hint of imperfections within classed society, it was just barely perceptively beginning to chip.

She couldn't leave-she hadn't collected everything she needed yet.

He entered the room, his eyes falling on the shattered figurine of the English lady that lay in opalescent pieces on the wooden floor. Cautiously, he stepped further inside, sniffing about the corners, the furniture like an anal retentive bloodhound.

A sound caught his ears, he snapped his powdered white head in its direction.

He was met by a prowling tabby with broken stripes and darting yellow eyes, his tail wriggling back and forth, undaunted.

_Equinox._

The cat stood his ground atop Elizabeth's desk, from which the figure had fallen.

Equinox leapt soundlessly to the wood floor, giving the man a wide berth and a look suggesting he were noxious vermin. He resolved no differently than Elizabeth looked at him. Cocksurely, the cat padded through the doorway.

The crooked-wigged man did not relax his own stance in finding the supposed cause of the Englishwoman's fall. He circled the room, lifting the bed skirt, to find no one.

The space behind the desk was empty, the corners, the closet, the bureau unoccupied. He noticed the window as his bloodshot blue eyes crossed the room.

In two steps, he was there, and found it unlocked. He lifted the white window frame and looked outside. Nothing but a fine blue morning and presumably a pulchritudinous day ahead. The sun was still rising to meet the day. He turned back inside.

On a whim, or rather, intuitive feeling (one will never know for sure), he ducted his head out the window, and looked down through the gardens on each side, then directly below.

He extended a hand from the window.

"Miss Swann,"

An overly fractious, bland voice greeted, its owner face to face with Elizabeth.

"Good morning, Norrington,"

His help unnecessary to her physically, and to her pride, she scaled the lattice and swung in the window on her own accord.

" I see you're still a Pirate."

"I see you're still a monotone narcissist."

He hummed a shard of laughter to himself, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Norrin-"

She started, dressed head to toe in filthy, torn garb, in discord to the former commodore's neat white shirt, black trousers and blue, embroidered jacket. Boots versus little effeminate buckled things.

"Really, Miss Swann, we've been engaged...you've knocked me unconscious and thrown me into a pigpen. Call me James. And let us never speak of it again,"

"May I remind you, Norrington, that your filthy drunken idiocy would have gotten you killed had I not stepped in when I did."

He cringed at the foggy, though sadly true memory.

"I see my father has reinstated you in some form-or you have taken a liking to lurking about my bedroom,"

Norrington stood proudly, with an expression suggesting her observation was one of an obvious answer.

"I assume he does not know of all of that Tortuga business, then,"

"I would suppose not. I have been employed by the Governor to watch the estate. Your father says that he hopes to help me regain my naval rank."

"Ahh,"

She stepped towards her desk and affectionately ran her hand from the cats head to tail. Equi purred contentedly.

"I, in turn wish to help prevent him from becoming a powerless figurehead."

"You can't prevent what has already happened. And you'll have no luck on your own in reversing it."

"It will surely help me some, when I return you to your father,"

She gathered her remaining documents, dropped them into her bag. Unsurprised, she turned.

"Really, Norrington, you ought not to think about only your own problems. What of mine? If I return here before I can dismantle Beckett's rule, do you think I won't hang for all I—we, yourself included, have done?"

"It is none of my concern, Elizabeth. Your father will be happy to see you."

"As will the hangman," Elizabeth ensured.

"_Jack Ketch's dance, per chance your wheel is spun, forever vies an onyx trance..."_ She said under her breath, sing-song.

"Governor Swann will not let that happen,"

Angry, now, Elizabeth spoke out.

"Do you think he will be given a choice? While you were on your back drunk in Tortuga, I was sitting in a jail cell in my wedding dress to be put to death! You weren't here for any of that. I was set to hang no less than week and a half ago, and there was nothing he could do!"

"Are you suggesting that I should have been here, and that your actions are mine to deal with?"

"No, I am informing you about pleasant situations that you were not ranked to witness. That my father truly is no longer in control of Port Royal. The Navy, it seems is out of his hands, as well. The officers have been Corrupted by Beckett."

The composed man said nothing.

"I will be leaving this room if you _allow_ me or not, James." Elizabeth impelled.

"No, you will not,"

"To put it more comprehensible words, I will be leaving this room even if that means (that) you will not."

"Elizabeth, I highly doubt threats are necessary. I'm on your side."

"You're anywhere that might regain you any shred of respect that you thought you once had. There are no two sides, James, everyone's in for themselves."

From her pocket, she plucked the dagger, dried blood still covered its silver surface in part. She held it not in an overly threatening position, though ready, at her side.

Translucent light caught the blade, reflecting a jagged, triangular patch of sunlight on the blanched wall.

He laughed, monotone, not coldly. Nor was he patronizing.

He had learned from recent times that he did not know everything about Elizabeth Swann. She was not one to be swift with, and put simply, could fight.

Yet he still might have had too much time with the speculated collection of testosterone that he had only used lately, and little before. The one that she wanted to slice plainly from his dull manhood.

That, and a high voice, true honor, and a fair bit of decency were the only things that separated him from the euinuchs, now.

The man was once brave when need-be, and in battle, and that Elizabeth still harboured respect for. But that was all.

"Don't think I won't kill you, Norrington, that would only be a judgement that harms you,"

"I'm not thinking that you wouldn't, Miss Swann, because all that you have become is an overzealous child. You turned to Piracy out of nothing but boredom, and you are stretching yourself between an unsuccessful joke of a Pirate, a slovenly, juvenile blacksmith and a Commodore of the Royal Navy, whom holds more respect that a woman of your newfound stature shall ever know."

"You were a Commodore, James, were." Elizabeth corrected. "And I never loved you."

"Though you accepted a proposal,"

"Nor did I show you any kind of affection. I love William because he is an honorable man who lacks judgement for me. He has saved my life on many more than one occasion," She justified. "And that _unsuccessful _Pirate has successfully made a joke of you more times than I've fingers to count. Not that that was even necessary on this particular occasion, as you managed to make a fool out of yourself all on your own. Miserable debauchery among putrefaction," She advanced.

"Whore; the single libertine beldam in the marquis' order, the Caribbean aristocracy," The ex-Commodore spat with a look of well-thought distaste.

Elizabeth muscled forward, forced her former fiance against her rooms door, knife firmly pressed against the left side of his exposed, bloodless neck, other hand weighted against his chest.

The Pirate noticed the view of the subordinate man trace the triangular patch of glowing white light, cast by the knife on the wall. She became unnecessarily close to him, and knew as well as the preceding uniform that he'd no intention of leaving that particular spot.

Her lips lay half an inch from his, warm breath expelled from those parted, eye to eye, abysmal brown to subaqueous blue.

The two shared an understanding moment, that oddly seemed to explain much of what they hadn't said.

Elizabeth turned without hesitation, slipped out the window, and once again, out of James Norrington's life.


End file.
